Like it's Supposed to be
Seven plus inches of snow yesterday, no wind, a steady fall, sort of like being inside a snow globe once the shaking has stopped and everything is settling back into place. Today is sunny and just a bit on the cold side; the snow sparkles like flecks of mica, puffs of fall from trees as a squirrel passes by or a bird sets down. Even here in the city, quiet reigns, broken only by the occasional passing car or the distant drone of someone's snowblower.
This is the time of winter at which I have mixed feelings about my snowbird friends, those with condos in the south, to which they can retreat when it all seems a cold drudgery. Sometimes I'd like to be one, and even consider moving to a place where snow is an event instead of an expectation. But then there are days like this, I don't think I'd trade it for anything. Clearing snow was a pleasant chore, even the heavier chunks thrown up by that damned snow plow. I even sort of envy my other friends, the ones with cabins up further north, where the snows are serious and longer lasting. Where winter mean snowshoes and skis, and ice adventure.
But mostly I'm content. The soft hum of a working furnace, beams of sunlight through the kitchen windows, a cup of hot coffee, and my laptop. No aches or pains, family and friends all seem safe. I honestly can't ask for more at the moment.
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